In the present-day real world, I can stand on the balcony of my 16th floor condo and watch my neighbors with houses dragging sewage-stained couches out onto the sidewalk for the second time this year, after one record-breaking rainfall followed another.

Along with flooded basements, homeowners have to cope with leaky roofs, clogged eavestroughs and ice dams.

I’ve never so much as shoveled a sidewalk and never plan to.

When something goes wrong — and it rarely does — I’ve always had a super or, now, a building manager to make it right.

At my last apartment, when my fridge up and died, the super — who liked me for some reason — got me a free new one in about two hours.

If we lived in a house, our beloved cat Pip would run out the door and be devoured by a coyote or get hit by a car.

Sure, my idea of porn is to hang out at “tiny house” blogs, but in my fantasy world, silent invisible elves perform all the maintenance on these dream homes.

The thing that cemented my house-phobia is the TV program Holmes on Homes.

Mike Holmes is the quintessential Canadian superstar hero:

A gentle giant who fixes other contractors’ shoddy work.

(In the interview above, Holmes talks about building a three-bedroom tree fort when he was six years old.)

I don’t know if Adam Carolla will attain “unlikely sex symbol” status the way Holmes has, but his new show, Catch a Contractor, features the same premise.